


Raw Power

by it_rains_and_it_pours



Category: My Chemical Romance
Genre: 70s punk show, M/M, PWP, Porn With Plot, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-22
Updated: 2015-11-22
Packaged: 2018-05-02 22:31:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5266217
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/it_rains_and_it_pours/pseuds/it_rains_and_it_pours
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Frank Iero is the king of the 70s Jersey punk scene. He doesn't care about anything - until one night at an Iggy and the Stooges gig, when everything changes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Raw Power

For seventeen year old Frank Iero, nothing in the world beat live music. It was the blood running through his veins and keeping him alive; what he lived for- the angsty, dirty music that would fill him up with fiery rebellion and stay, smouldering in his veins until the next gig. Some might say that Frank was your typical Seventies punk kid- with his scuffed about, steel toe-cap Dr Marten boots, pants with far too many safety pins and funky, dyed black floppy Mohican, he sure as hell looked the part.

However, Frank was more than just another angry teen wearing tartan. Anyone who even vaguely delved into the Jersey punk scene knew who the fuck Frank Iero was- his name carried some kind of respect, some kind of charisma, not unlike the sour, dirty yet awesome taste of beer. Frank Iero was the king of the Jersey punk scene. 

He attended every single gig The Garage held, he partied the wildest, he looked the coolest, and he rocked out the hardest. Girls and guys alike were after him, but Frank had never stayed with anyone longer than the length of your average gig. He liked a bit of a challenge, and really, it wasn’t much of a challenge getting into the pants of someone who rammed their tongue down your throat at the same time as saying ‘Hi’. 

It also pissed Frank off when people seemed more into getting laid that listening to the music. After all, what the fuck was the point in going to a gig if you weren’t bothered about the music? Sure, he liked getting laid as much as the next seventeen-year-old ruled by their hormones, but it was all just a bit of fun- the raw power of live music that he really craved. Frank had easily lost count of the ridiculous amount of bands he’d screamed along to and the sweaty, pulsating crowds he’d moshed in, since he’d fallen in love with punk after sneaking into a Misfits gig at thirteen but, as he swaggered down the familiarly dirty Jersey backstreets now, he was sure the number must be reaching something colossal. 

The familiar tang of pre-gig excitement lingered in the cold night air along with the stagnant taste of the city’s back alleys, coiling through the raven air from the club at the end of the grimy street. It had been raining slightly, enough to slick the pavements black that were usually grey with grime, and they shimmered greasily under the cheap street lamps’ yellow gleam. 

“Fuck, I’m so psyched for this!” Frank exclaimed, bouncing about and grinning excitedly at the girl walking beside him. He splashed happily through the gutter with his scuffed Dr. Martens, shaking his fringe out of his heavily-outlined eyes as he did so. It was getting so long it tickled his lip-ring, but he didn’t care; he knew he looked cool as fuck. 

“Yeah, it’s gunna be rad,” the girl bearing the brunt of Frank’s puddle-splashing replied, grinning equally excitedly. Honey had been Frank’s best since he’d moved to New Jersey as a stubborn, outspoken eleven year old. Frank could remember Honey being chubby with a toothy grin and long, blonde hair- now she was taller than Frank and almost skeletal-skinny, her sandy hair cut short and spiked up in bleach-blonde spikes. On the outside, she was steely, but once you got to know her, as Frank knew, she was super kind and sensitive. On the inside, she was just like her name; Honey. 

“Iggy and the motherfucking Stooges!” Frank grinned, twirling round on the spot. “I’m telling you, they’re gunna be fuckin’ huge.”

“Yes, because you can predict the future,” A skinhead boy just behind Honey said rather sarcastically. He was wearing a ripped denim jacket and a slightly sour expression as he glared at the back of Frank’s half-shaved head. 

“Shut up, Ed,” Frank said cheerfully, flipping off the punk boy without turning round. “I’m always right about bands, okay? It’s like…the second sight for music.”

“Whatever,” Ed muttered sullenly, stuffing his hands in his pockets. 

“He is,” A tattooed, curvy girl said eagerly. “Frank’s like, so awesome.”

Frank rolled his eyes a little, but called “Thanks, Lise!” without bothering to turn round. His little posse changed all the time- only Honey and Ray stuck. Sometimes, Frank would end up with good friends, but people who sucked up pissed him off. The jealous ones like Ed amused him more than anything. 

“So, you gunna ask the nose-ring girl out tonight?” Ray asked jokingly, nudging Frank in the ribs and wincing when the safety-pins holding Frank’s tattered Sex Pistols sleeveless shirt together stabbed him. “And ouch. It wouldn’t kill you to stop wearing so many weapons, you know.”

“Weapons!” Frank snorted, rolling his eyes at his curly-haired friend. “Dude, they’re safety-pins. The clue’s in the name- y’know; safety pins?”

“Whatever, Iero,” Ray rolled his eyes back. Frank had known Ray since eighth grade, when the latter had offered to teach him rhythm guitar, and they’d been fast friends ever since. “So, are you going to ask the chick with the nose ring out?” 

Frank shrugged carelessly, as they trooped into the grungy alleyway just outside The Garage. “Dunno. Might,” he tossed the question off easily, hitching his safety-pin and badge adorned tartan pants up and smirking in amusement when he caught Lise staring at the gap of pale flesh between his pants and his shirt. 

Lise quickly fluttered her eyelashes sickeningly, which only amused Frank more, and he strode confidently towards the doors, rolling his eyes good-humouredly. 

“Do you even know the ‘chick with the nose ring’s name?” Honey raised her eyebrows sceptically, knowing her best friend all too well. 

Frank grinned sheepishly. “…Um…Ally? Or… Alison? Who cares, Hon?”

“I thought as much,” Honey sighed. She glanced behind her, amused at the way Lise was still fluttering her eyelashes hopefully and sticking her chest out in Frank’s direction- who hadn’t even appeared to notice. Honey knew the poor kid hadn’t got a hope in hell. Frank liked a challenge, a mystery, something a little bit different- and Lise sure as hell wasn’t any of those. If she was lucky, she might get with him for about half an hour at the end of the gig, but then she’d never see Frank again. Honey knew his habits, and they weren’t exactly commitment-friendly. 

“I thought you liked her- y’know, the girl with the nose ring,” Ray frowned as they approached the door of The Garage. Frank could smell the familiar mingled smells of alcohol and sweat and rebellion and it made his stomach fizz with excitement. 

“Yeah, she’s cool,” he replied carelessly. “But so is Cindy. And Bob. And-”

“Jeez, shut up already. Some of us are going to die alone y’know- no need to rub it in,” Honey said teasingly, pinching Frank’s bare, tattooed bicep.

“Hey, what can I say?” Frank smirked, whirling round to face them all and shrugging cheekily. “I’ve just got that sex appeal thing going on, y’know?”

Honey rolled her sapphire blue eyes expressively. “You’re just so modest, aren’t you, Frankie?”

“I know right,” Frank grinned jokingly, waving cheerily at the bouncer on the doors, who smiled back and nodded them straight into the smoky interior of The Garage, instantly recognising Frank and his crew. Everyone did. 

The second they were through the door and into the club’s dark lighting, the exhilaratingly filthy atmosphere of tobacco and beer and sweat filled Frank’s senses and he grinned his trademark, lopsided grin, letting the dirty, rebellious atmosphere fill him up. That- that moment where you first walked into a gig, was one of his all-time favourite feelings; where you could just taste the excitement in the smoky air and feel the dull vibration of heavy bass resonating in the depths of your chest. 

As usual, The Garage was packed to the brim with Mohicans and spiked leather and platform biker-boots, a thick, smoky fug lingering over the crowd from the endless cigarettes being smoked. The bar was lit up at the back of the room, and Frank recognised Bob Bryar’s familiar blonde head serving pint glasses of beer to the masses. 

“This is gunna be so good,” Honey said loudly in Frank’s ear in order to be heard over the warm up band, whose amps were turned up so loud the notes were distorted out of recognition. 

“Fuck yeah,” he turned and grinned at Honey, shaking his hair from his eyes. “Let’s get a drink and then to the front, yeah?” 

“What else would we do?” Honey joked, following Frank into the sweaty, writhing throng of punks towards the black, paint-chipped surface of the bar.

“Hey, Frank.” Bob threw a hopeful grin over his shoulder as Frank flopped down on one of the bar stools, blowing his too-long fringe out of his face and hitching up his tartan pants. He’d got it down to a fine art now; he hardly ever got stabbed by a safety-pin. 

“’Sup, Bryar,” Frank winked, drumming his fingers on the bar and fiddling with his lip-ring as he leant across to tell Bob his order. “The usual?”

“Sure,” Bob said, grabbing a pint glass from under the counter. “Hi, Honey.”

“How’s it going?” Honey smiled, sitting down beside Frank. “I’ll have a beer, thanks, Bob.”

“Coming right up,” Bob said efficiently, grabbing another glass. “New tattoo, Frank?” he asked, frowning through the dim lighting at Frank’s neck.

“Oh,” Frank laughed and leant forward to show off his new tattoo. “Yeah. It’s a scorpion.” He grinned as Bob nodded appreciatively at the black art on the pale skin of his neck. 

“Looks rad. Anyway, there you go, guys,” Bob smiled, setting a pint of dark amber Jack Daniels and coke, followed by Honey’s beer down in front of them. “Enjoy the gig.”

“Thanks,” Frank grinned, taking a swig of the drink and getting up. “See you around, Bryar.”

“Bye,” Bob called a little wistfully as Frank sauntered off into the crowd, waving without turning round, just as if he knew Bob would be watching him walk away. 

“God,” Honey rolled her eyes and stole a sip from Frank’s drink. 

“What?” Frank protested. “And oi, that’s mine, bitch.”

“Not anymore,” Honey grinned, swallowing. “And gee, just…get un-confident or something! How is it fair that you can chat up anyone- anyone without making a fool out of yourself or turning bright red?”

“It’s just my natural awesomeness,” Frank joked, dipping his finger in Honey’s beer as they sifted through the crowd, drifting vaguely towards the front. “Or maybe it’s ‘cause I’m not really bothered? I mean, if you really, really like someone, it’d be a hell of a lot more difficult to chat them up, y’know? ‘Cause you’d care about the outcome.”

“Pfff,” Honey sighed, gulping down her beer. “Stop giving such good advice. It’s not fair for you to be good at everything.”

Frank laughed, tossing his hair out of his eyes. “C’mon, Hon, don’t exaggerate. And hey, I’m still single, y’know.”

“Yeah. Single and getting fucked at least once every god damn night,” Honey pointed out, taking a sip of beer and sighing. “That’s not exactly my definition of single. What kind of saint were you in a past life to deserve all this?”

“A sex god,” Frank grinned widely. 

Honey rolled her eyes emphatically as they expertly manoeuvred their way through a particularly energetic group of purple and green Mohicans. “How did you get so full of yourself?” 

“Hey, don’t be mean,” Frank pouted playfully. “I’m going to be single for the rest of my living days.”

“Yes, but you relish it,” Honey said sulkily, stealing another sip of Frank’s Jack Daniels. “So you can flirt with every living thing that crosses your path. It’s not really the same, Frank.”

“Well,” Frank grinned mischievously, dodging a crowd surfer with ease. “What can I say? It’s fun.”

“Don’t you ever want to stay with someone longer than five minutes after your orgasm?” Honey asked despairingly, stealing another sip of Frank’s drink. 

Frank shrugged and took a sip himself. “Why would I?”

Honey rolled her eyes heavily. “Because you actually might like them?”

“Yeah, but not for that long,” Frank said incredulously. 

“One day, Frankieboy, you’re gunna meet someone and it’s gunna scare the shit out of you, because you’re going to want to stay with them after fucking,” Honey announced. “Even if only for ten minutes,” she added jokingly, shoving him affectionately in the ribs. 

“Pff,” Frank snorted sceptically. 

“Scoff about it all you like, but it’ll happen. You’re not a complete douche, you know. Ooh look, there’s Ed near the front! And Lise- c’mon, slowpoke!” She grabbed Frank’s hand and started tugging him through the moshing crowd, towards the very front where the music was almost eardrum-shattering. Frank sighed a little and let himself be dragged. He couldn’t imagine wanting to be with someone longer than a night- or even that long. It just got boring, and he got restless for someone else new. 

“Hey,” A familiar voice and a poke in the shoulder made Frank turn round to see Ray smiling at him, his curly hair slightly sweaty in the airless heat of squashed-together skin. 

“Howdy, Toro,” Frank grinned, forgetting his thoughts. “Coming to the front with us?”

“Do bears shit in the woods?” Ray asked rhetorically, following Frank and Honey through the swarming crowd. 

“Not if they’re in captivity,” Frank pointed out, making Ray roll his eyes and tell Frank to ‘Shut the fuck up, clever dick’. 

“So, have you seen nose-ring chick yet?” Ray shouted over the throbbing guitars. 

“No,” Frank yelled into Ray’s ear. 

“She’s probably looking everywhere for you,” Ray smirked.

“Let her,” Frank shouted over the untuned noise. “I don’t care.” And that was the thing; Frank didn’t care. He couldn’t find anyone he could honestly say he’d care about flirting with. It was all just something that amused him vaguely- something fun, but meaningless for a night out. 

Perhaps when he was a lot older and he’d moved out of this shithole somewhere interesting, he’d find what Honey was on about- somewhere people were mysterious and exciting he could unravel their exteriors and find out who they really were. 

That was the thing, here. Frank knew everyone and everyone knew Frank. They were all chewed meat, they were…just not what Frank wanted. The music was what Frank wanted. Frank couldn’t really see himself caring about anyone more than it. That was what made him Frank Iero, the coolest punk in town- he was so careless. And he liked it that way. He certainly had no intention of changing until he was a lot, lot older. 

They were almost right at the front now, and he was sandwiched between Ray and Honey as they tried to shunt their way a little closer to the stage. The Stooges weren’t on stage yet, but some vaguely cool looking band with red Mohicans and lipstick were playing, looking distinctly stoned. The spicy smell of weed mingled into the smoky haze drifting over the crowd, which probably meant Frank’s old friends were around somewhere. 

One of the good things about being Frank Iero was that the crowd parted in his wake, enabling him, Honey, and Ray to get almost to the barriers at the front. 

“Want a sip?” Ray shouted over the throbbing guitars just in front of them now, proffering a shot glass of clear liquid. “Vodka!”

“Hell yeah,” Frank yelled back, taking a long gulp of the lukewarm, clear drink and letting its burning warmth seep down his throat and into his chest. “Thanks, Toro!”

It took a further twenty minutes before the lights went down, signalling Iggy and The Stooges were about to come onstage. The crowd went wild when the lights went up and the band strutted onstage, waving to the masses. The girl who’d been flirting shamelessly with Frank to pass the time managed to actually scream louder than the guitars tuning up, which was pretty impressive. 

When the first song started up, for Frank, nothing else existed. It was the messy, heavy guitars and the vibrating drone of the bass. It was the pounding of the drums and the raw power of Iggy’s voice that crooned out through the room, and it was that beautiful, untamed, salty, alcoholic rebellion that raged through the whole crowd. Frank threw himself into the beat of the music, letting it consume him as he pumped his fist in the air and screamed the words along with Iggy. 

It wasn’t until the crowd had calmed down a little for the band to launch into ‘Gimme Danger’, that Frank relented a little, blowing sweaty tendrils of his dyed-black hair out of his eyes, panting slightly in the sticky, human heat and looking round the sweaty, stoned crowd swaying around him. It always interested him to see other people’s reactions to the same music.

“…Gimme Danger, little stranger…” Iggy crooned into the microphone. Frank could feel goose bumps shiver down his spine, because he loved this song. There was something sort of thrilling, sort of surreal about it- something oddly magical that he couldn’t quite define. 

Frank was letting the notes flow through him, soaking the melody up like sun as he fanned his sweating face and looked with mild interest at the people nearby. 

And that was when Frank saw him. 

For once in his life, the music was forgotten; the heat and the crush of damp limbs pressed up against him; the smoke in the air; Iggy’s raw voice. It was all forgotten, as Frank just stared at this…Guy.

He wasn’t just another punk in the crowd with a shaved heat and heavy-set biker boots. He was utterly unique and startling in the mass of predictable tartan; he was different. And he was weirdly beautiful. Frank didn’t know boys could be beautiful before, but fuck, this boy was more beautiful than any other human being he’d seen in his life. He was like a slightly messed-up work of dark art. 

Instead of the compulsory safety-pin adorned everything, he was clad entirely in black; ridiculously tight black jeans with rips and paint spatters, and a jet black shirt. His lean torso was adorned in a beat-up, black leather jacket, which had been flawlessly decorated with various goth-punk lyrics along the bottom. His hair was black too; wonderfully dishevelled raven that just tickled his shoulders and hung impossibly sexily his eyes. And his eyes…Frank had never seen ones like them. They were heavily outlined in smoky black, enhancing their vibrancy; a mysterious, intelligent, yet slightly wild emerald that glittered in the dim lighting. 

The guy was moving to the beat in an impossibly seductive way, effortlessly graceful and flowing in his movement, yet channelling the raw angst of Iggy’s voice as he gyrated his slender hips, a small smile playing across his slightly moist pink lips. 

Frank swallowed, feeling his tartan pants tighten slightly.

“What the fuck is up with you?” Honey yelling in his ear made him start guiltily and yank his reluctant gaze back to the stage. Honey fixed him with an incredulous stare. “Frank?!”

“What?” Frank shouted over the music. His voice felt uncharacteristically hoarse and his heart was thumping oddly fast, making his chest feel all fluttery and weird. 

“What the actual fuck? What was so amazing you were staring at that stopped you staring at Iggy?” Honey yelled incredulously. 

“That,” Frank said loudly, feeling slightly breathless as he tugged Honey’s elbow. “Look, Honey.”

“Holy fuck,” Honey shouted subtly, when she caught sight of the guy. “Now, that’s what I call sex on legs!”

“I thought that was my nickname!” Frank protested, but it was somewhat vague and lacking his usual vigour- the mystery guy was swivelling his hips in a way that made Frank want to fuck him there and then, regardless of any rampaging mosh-pit that might trample them to death. Something was pulling in the pit of his belly as he watched the Gothic guy’s fluid, dark movements- something strong and new and slightly scary. 

“Well, go hit on him, then!” Honey exclaimed, slapping Frank’s tattooed bicep and making him jump. 

“What if…” Frank started, suddenly feeling uncharacteristic nerves bubbling up in the pit of his belly. He actually had to think for a moment as to what the tangled-up butterfly feeling was; he never got nervous about stuff- not even playing at a gig. Yet now, he felt all full of nerves about going up to this beautiful man. 

Honey’s eyes were so wide she’d forgotten to stare at the stage. “Dude, you’re Frank Iero! Since when are you worried about chatting someone up?! And let me tell you, if you don’t, I sure as hell will! That is one tasty piece of meat, so move it if you want it, punk boy.”

Obediently, albeit slightly dazedly, Frank ‘moved it’. It only took him a couple of moments to subtly move through the pulsating crowd to where the sexy, pale guy was rocking out. He seemed to sense Frank’s stare, because he turned round, eyes glittering quirkily emerald in the dim lighting of the venue. 

Frank felt his legs weaken as the guy looked at him in a way that made it feel as though he was turning his soul inside out. When Frank didn’t manage to say anything, but just did some kind of odd eye-twitch that might have been intended as a wink, the Stranger raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly in a subtly amused sort of way, before turning back to the front and continuing to pump his fist in time with the beat. 

For the remainder of the set, Frank had to keep reminding himself to listen to the music, even though it was screaming so loudly he could barely hear his own thoughts. All he could concentrate on was the beautiful stranger nearby, who was moving impossibly alluringly just in front of Frank, and every so often, he’d accidentally brush his hips with Frank’s if the crowd’s crush got too fierce. At these moments, Frank had to bite down hard on his lower lip and look away, angrily ignoring the surge of pleasure it sent gushing through his dick.

Eventually, when Iggy announced they’d be back in fifteen minutes to play the last couple songs, the stranger turned round. Frank’s belly leapt, heart going wild in his chest, but the guy just raised his eyebrows at Frank again, a slightly amused smile playing across those perfect lips of his again, and then he sauntered casually out of the dispersing crowd, digging a pack of Marlboro Lights from his pocket with long, nimble looking fingers. 

Frank felt his heart sink as he watched this beautiful man melt away into the mass of punks, like a thorn in a bed of black roses. There was something about the guy that made Frank’s whole body fizz with excitement; something different. He desperately wanted to go up and talk to him yet now that it finally mattered, it suddenly felt impossible. 

“Well, did you get his number?” Honey’s voice cut through Frank’s frustration. 

He jumped, turning round to face her with a slightly sheepish look. “Um,” he bit his lip, sweeping his unruly hair out of his eyes once more as he looked slightly guiltily at his friend.

Honey stared incredulously. “Oh, you are kidding me?”

“What?” Frank protested crossly, rubbing self-consciously at the scorpion on his neck and not quite meeting Honey’s blue eyes. “I didn’t get the chance…”

“Dude,” Honey rolled her eyes. “Please. You’d make time to flirt if the world was on fire. Where’s he gone, then?” She sighed, crossing her arms and looking sternly at Frank. 

“Uhm, I think he went outside for a smoke,” Frank muttered reluctantly. He hated feeling like a twelve year old with their first crush- it was crazy, he’d spent the whole year flirting, and this was a very weird contrast to feeling so careless and unbothered.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Honey exclaimed, giving Frank a shove in the small of his back. “You’re hot, you’re single, so go get him, you idiot.”

Flipping Honey off, Frank strutted off through the crowd, self-consciously straightening his tartan pants, his legs feeling oddly shaken as he approached the fire exit by the bar. The paint-peeling doors were thrown open, basking the steps in moonlight, and Frank could feel the chilly night air seeping into the hot, sweaty airlessness of the room, refreshing and cool. 

Out of the corner of his eye, Frank noticed Lise sticking her chest out at him from across the room, and made his mind up on the spot, ducking out of the human humidity of the club and into the velvety darkness of the Jersey night. The alley was deserted apart from where it was bathed in the raggedy raven starlight from the clouds overhead.

And sitting carelessly on the graffitied, crumbling brick wall a few metres away, staring up at the velveteen sky, was the guy himself. Frank felt his belly do some kind off complicated flipping manoeuvre that wasn’t entirely unpleasant. 

The wispy smell of his tobacco was reeling Frank in, not to mention the way the guy made smoking look orgasmic, gently blowing the smoke from between his cherry pink lips like cobwebs of cancer. His head was tipped right back as he stared philosophically up at the night’s cloud, raven hair tumbling down his shoulders like an inky waterfall, while the moonlight made the flesh of his neck look tender and incredibly alluring. 

Frank swallowed, mentally slapping himself for acting like such a girl, and sat down a little awkwardly on the wall too, leaving a metre or two between himself and the mysterious, beautiful man. However, he couldn’t stop his eyes from drifting towards him; couldn’t stop his thoughts running crazy; couldn’t stop himself biting down hard on his lip in some wild attempt to get his emotions under check. What was happening to him?

“So,” The guy’s voice made Frank jump as it suddenly drifted across the alley to him, subtly husky and doing ridiculous things to the tightness of Frank’s pants. The mysterious guy casually blew smoke up into the ebony sky and flicked ash from his cigarette, before turning to face Frank, inky hair rippling in the breeze, eyes glittering intriguingly. “Are you just gunna stare at me or night, kid- or am I gunna have to buy you a drink?” He sounded amused, and a small smirk was playing at the corner of his mouth. 

Frank almost blushed, but caught himself furiously. He was Frank Iero. He didn’t blush. Fucking hell. 

The guy’s expression was subtly amused as he took another drag of his smoke, waiting for Frank to say something. 

“Well,” Frank managed finally, forcing the nerves away. “Staring is an appealing option…” Frank managed his signature lopsided grin, but it felt uncomfortable and self-conscious, and inside he could feel himself shaking with nerves. “But I guess the drink would be a little less creepy.”

“Hey, creepy is the new black,” the guy shrugged, eyes twinkling with dark humour as he took another long drag from his cigarette and blew the smoke carelessly out into the velveteen dusk. 

“True that,” Frank said awkwardly, scuffing his Dr Martens against the grimy floor of the alley. 

“No,” the guy waved his hand, laughing slightly. The sound was melodic and slightly raggedy from smoking and beautifully tinted with darkness, and it made Frank’s lower belly flip with excitement. “Dude, it’s the name of my band.”

“Oh,” Frank did blush this time, and mentally beat himself up for it. What the hell was wrong with him? “You’re, uh, in a band?”

“Mhhmmm,” The guy replied carelessly, pouting his lips and slowly, sexily blowing wispy tendrils of smoke out into the alley. Frank clenched his fists as he felt his pants tighten slightly again. This was ridiculous.

“So, do you have a name?” the stranger asked in way that suggested he wasn’t really bothered, cutting through Frank’s angry discussion with his overly excitable dick. The guy’s emerald eyes were glittering as he looked intently at Frank in a way that felt as though the former could see right into the darkest shadows of the latter’s mind and find untamed beauty in their blackness.

“Frank Iero,” Frank blurted, rubbing self-consciously at the scorpion again. 

“Gerard Way,” the guy replied easily, showing no sign of recognition to Frank’s name. Frank blinked, because he was yet to come across someone at a gig these days who didn’t go ‘Oh, the guy in I Am A Graveyard’, or ‘Oh my god, I’ve heard of you’, or ‘Oh, the guy my friend wants to fuck’ when Frank announced his name. 

But Gerard didn’t act as if Frank had said anything more interesting than ‘Hi’.

If possible, this made the guy even more attractive. Frank clenched his fists again.

There was a small silence, during which- in some vague hope of making himself look a little cooler- Frank dug his slightly squashed carton of cigarettes out of his pocket and spent several minutes searching frantically for his lighter. 

Eventually, he looked up to see Gerard smirking amusedly at him in the moonlight. He was a lot closer than Frank remembered; almost right beside him on the wall, and the latter could smell tobacco and oil paints and incense clinging to that cobwebby raven hair. It was a weirdly seductive mix; heady and potent and intriguing at the same time. Frank shivered. 

“Need to borrow this?” Gerard asked lightly, holding out a scratched green lighter. The smirk was playing across his delicately chapped pink lips once more.

“Thanks, man,” Frank muttered, feeling embarrassed as he took the lighter, blowing his hair carelessly out of his face, trying not to blush. Gerard’s hands were unexpectedly soft; for some reason, Frank had expected them to have guitarist’s calluses, but they were silken smooth, like an artist’s.

“Are you an artist?” Frank blurted out, fumbling with the lighter.

Gerard looked amused. “Why?”

“Um, your hands. They, uh, look like artist’s hands,” Frank stammered, and instantly cursed himself. This had to be the worst chatting up anyone had every attempted in the history of failed chatting up. But it was true- Gerard’s hands did look like artists hands. Delicate and nimble, yet powerful looking. 

Gerard looked even more amused, and smiled, raking a hand through his dishevelled hair as he looked at Frank. “I am,” he grinned. “You’re observant.”

He was looking at Frank as though he was more than just observant, and all Frank could manage was another witty ‘Uh’ as his stomach somersaulted in another complicated, twisty way. “What kind of art do you do?”

Gerard shrugged, contemplating and flicking ash from the butt of his cigarette to the cold alley floor. “Concept art, mainly, I guess. I love art because it’s always new and exciting, no matter how long you do it for. It always surprises me and captivates me, has a mind of its own and it’s just…it has so much I want to unravel but never will. I could never get sick of it.”

Frank didn’t quite know what to say to that, because that was exactly how he felt about music. “Like…It has a pulse?” 

Gerard turned to look at him properly then, emerald eyes whimsical and glittering in the darkness of the alleyway. “Exactly,” he said quietly. “But someone else’s pulse- someone fascinating who you’ll never quite get to understand.” 

There was a long silence as both Frank and Gerard smoked, listening to the noise and heat of the gig just behind them. Frank’s heart was fluttering crazily at the untamed presence of the raven-haired artist, unable to slow down. 

“You enjoying the gig, then, kid?” Gerard asked conversationally after a while, tipping his head back and blowing smoke into the sky. Frank tried not to look at the wonderfully milky skin of his jugular, because then he just wanted to lick things. 

“Fuckin’ brilliant,” Frank managed to reply enthusiastically, because it was the truth. “You?”

“Fuck yeah. Iggy’s gunna be huge.”

“I know right! Hey, do you go to gigs much, then? I’ve never noticed you…” Frank trailed off and took a drag of his cigarette, cursing himself because now he sounded like some kind of stalker. 

“I just moved back to Jersey last week; I was away at college in New York,” Gerard replied, leaning a little closer to Frank so the latter could smell the stupidly alluring tang of tobacco on Gerard’s breath. 

“Oh. So you’re like…”

“Twenty four,” Gerard supplied, smirking slightly as he tapped his foot casually up and down on the cobblestones of the alley. “And you must be what, fifteen?” He grinned.

“I’m nearly eighteen!” Frank cried indignantly, choking on his cigarette and shaking his too-long fringe out of his eyes. 

“Hmm…Okay,” Gerard smiled more widely this time, showing off a perfect set of tiny, nicotine stained teeth as his emerald eyes swept Frank’s body up and down in a way that made every hair on the latter’s neck stand on end, lower belly shuddering with excitement at the hungry tint to the older boy’s eyes. 

Suddenly, there was a deafening scream from the crowd inside and Gerard sprung up, stubbing his smoke out on the wall. He turned to Frank. “Coming?” he asked, eyes glittering in the darkness. “I don’t want to miss the rest of the gig.”

“S-sure,” Frank stammered, following Gerard’s fluid, easy saunter back into the sweaty heat of the club, where Lise waved extravagantly and over-enthusiastically at him from the bar. Carelessly, Frank rolled his eyes and continued into the crowd, waving back at her without bothering to look back. 

He was confident to know she’d be watching him walk away. 

Feeling slightly drunk, Frank continued to follow Gerard through the throng of people, heart thudding against his ribs as he wondered just what the fuck was happening to him.

*

 

Iggy’s finale was spectacular- Frank had never known a crowd go so god damn crazy over music. In fact, Frank was actually getting pretty pissed off with himself, because instead of rocking the fuck out and letting the wonderful raw power of punk overwhelm him, he was being driven crazy by the slender, raven-haired stranger crushed against him in the crowd that throbbed and pulsed on the spot, messy and uneven. 

When he was shunted closer still to Frank, Gerard twisted round, eyes wild and dilated, lips moist with beer, and mouthed ‘Sorry’ with a ridiculously alluring smirk, before turning back to the front and grinding his hips in time to the rhythm, pumping his fist in time with Iggy’s voice and screaming along, all hot and husky, and it sent thrills of aroused excitement down Frank’s sweaty spine. 

His heart was thudding hotly and wetly at his ribs, and suddenly, everything was tingling. Frank suppressed a small groan as Gerard’s jutting hipbones nudged back into his, Frank feeling his pants tighten uncomfortably at the craved and not quite received contact. 

For the remainder of ‘Your Pretty Face is Going To Hell’, Frank focused furiously on Iggy, but for the first time in his life, it wasn’t the music consuming him at all; it was the beautiful, mysterious and insanely sexy guy crushed against him, and it made him furious, because really, he was Frank Iero- he wasn’t meant to feel like this.

But Gerard’s hair was all in his face; soft and full of smoky split ends, smelling alluringly of spicy cinnamon incense and the smell was overpowering him. He could see the perfect, pale flesh of Gerard’s throat glistening wetly in the flashing lights. He could feel Gerard’s bony hips grinding back into his with the pulse of the crowd. And he could feel his pulse-rate getting wilder and wilder with every thrust. This beautiful, darkly mysterious man he barely knew was consuming Frank far more potently than even music had before- than it ever could. 

As the song reached its crescendo, Frank could feel himself getting seriously hard. Gerard was moving about easily, grinding his hips like crazy to match the rising frenzy of the music, and fuck, Frank had not been this turned on like, ever.

But he felt unnaturally nervous about the whole thing, almost vulnerable- totally the opposite of careless. Maybe it was because Gerard didn’t appear to think the name ‘Frank Iero’ held anything of recognition. Maybe it was because Gerard seemed different, cooler; older. But whatever it was, Frank was having to bite down hard on his lower lip to stop himself moaning as warm pleasure gushed through his lower belly. The crowd surged like the tide coursing through Frank, shunting Gerard’s ass closer against Frank’s throbbing cock and making his heart-rate skyrocket as the warm, jean-clad flesh pressed up against every inch of his dick. 

Finally, the song died out, and Frank heaved a sigh- half of relief, half of disappointment, because the crowd wasn’t jostling them about anymore. His heart was hammering at his ribs, and his lower belly kept flipping and tingling whenever Gerard moved just the slightest bit against him, sending sparks shooting up his spine. Everything felt hypersensitive, crazed. Needy. Frank had never felt needy before; he’d never needed to, maybe because people were all over him, so he’d never had to bother to chase anyone; to not feel the superior one. It was scaring him a little, because fuck, he barely knew this guy and he was already ridiculously affected by him. 

“This is the last song we’re gunna play tonight and it’s called…I WANNA BE YOUR DOG!” Iggy screamed, fleetingly distracting Frank as the crowd yelled their appreciation, caught up in the surge of punk rock ecstasy. 

The lights went down for a moment as the band tuned up, and Frank jumped, heart going crazy, as he felt Gerard turning round to face him. “You okay?” he shouted into the shell of Frank’s ear. His breath brushed Frank’s neck along with a tantalising brush of his lips, all warm and soft, and Frank had to bite down hard on his lip to control himself. 

“Yeah,” he breathed back, hot and heady into Gerard’s sweaty neck, but it came out as more of a moan. Gerard was suddenly shoved closer by some drunks in the crowd, and Frank really did moan that time, feeling Gerard’s cock all pressed up against his behind the confines of their jeans.

“This,” Gerard murmured breathlessly against Frank’s skin. “Has to be my favourite song.” Gerard’s lips tantalizingly grazed Frank’s as he uttered that, and Frank felt his dick twitch needily in his pants as his stomach pulled wildly. 

Before he could do something completely reckless, the song started up, and the crowd seethed together again, crushing Gerard into Frank so as neither could move. Frank couldn’t breathe; he could smell Gerard’s hair and taste the alcohol and smoke on his breath; he could feel the sweatiness of Gerard’s neck and the hardness of his jeans; he could almost hear the fevered pound pound pound of Gerard’s heart, but he couldn’t tell if that was just his own. 

“It’s so…seductive…don’t you think?” Gerard whispered huskily, his lips brushing Frank’s lightly as he uttered the words, soft and taunting and silken, moist with beer, and Frank felt himself completely lose control. His heart thudded wildly at his chest as he grabbed the collar of Gerard’s shirt smashed his lips into the older boy’s. Sparks rocketed up his spine and fizzled in his lower belly as he sunk into the soft, plush warmth of Gerard’s mouth with a desperate, breathy sigh. 

It was like nothing he’d ever experienced before. It was reckless and soft and hot, and it made everything inside him go wild- just at the simple, silken softness of Gerard’s plump lips, and the thought of the fiery blood gushing beneath them. 

Frank’s belly flipped as Gerard’s hands slid up his neck, past the scorpion tattoo and into his hair, tangling with the dyed-black of Frank’s outgrown Mohican, tugging, clinging, caressing. Gerard still wasn’t close enough though; Frank needed to feel all of him, let every inch of the slender boy’s body to consume him. Needily, he pressed himself closer, loosing himself in the hot wetness of Gerard’s mouth and crushing his whole body against the artist’s, groaning as he felt the latter’s heartbeat and hipbones and hardness all smushed fiercely against him. 

Gerard’s tongue tasted of cigarettes and cool, dirty lager and something sweet, like sugar cubes, and it slid sloppily into Frank’s mouth, twining tantalisingly with his tongue and making his cock twitch while his chest fluttered and beat like it was about to implode. 

The kiss progressed, getting harder and fiercer, as Gerard’s long, slightly sweaty fingers cupped Frank’s face possessively and Frank ground up against his hips, gasping out silently into the artist’s mouth at the contact. Frank was starting to feel hot sweat prickle down his spine as Gerard’s hands slid down to squeeze his ass, pressing their crotches closer together still, and Frank, dishevelled and panting, pulled away. 

“S…Stop,” He breathed, tucking his unruly hair behind his ear and looking up at Gerard’s swollen lips and blown pupils and slightly smudged black eyeliner. 

“Why…?” Gerard murmured, nibbling succulently on Frank’s ear and sending violent shivers all down the latter’s spine. “I was rather enjoying that. Nice tongue.”

“Out…Outside…” Frank mumbled, stomach lurching with excitement as Gerard’s eyes met his again, full of that mysterious, emerald longing that did ridiculous and inexplicable things to Frank’s hormones. 

Everything else sort of became lost or irrelevant as Frank moaned softly and sunk back into Gerard’s mouth in a haze of lust, working his lips deeply, desperately against the silken hotness that obliterated everything else. Pure ecstasy.

Vaguely, Frank could feel Gerard pushing them backwards, out of the crowd, but he barely noticed anything but the feel of the mysterious man’s lips. Lust was pulsing through Frank’s veins so potently he was barely aware of the people he was colliding with as he stumbled blindly for the fire exit, hands wandering feverishly all over Gerard, their lips bumping urgently against each other, fragmented and messy, lapping needily at each other as they staggered backwards, out into the comparative silence of the moonlit alleyway.

For several seconds, Frank just stood, trembling, panting for breath and staring unbelievingly at the emerald eyed artist who was running a slightly shaking hand through his ebony hair and looking hungrily at Frank in a way that made the younger’s knees buckle. 

The atmosphere between them strengthened, fizzling potently with some kind of electricity Frank had never experienced before; it was unknown and mysterious and wonderfully raw- just like punk rock- making his pulse beat erratically and his cock stiffen in his tartan pants with the too-many safety-pins. Then Gerard’s eyes were blazing and he was shoving Frank up against the cold, brick wall, shoving his lips against the smaller’s mouth and making Frank groan as everything melted and tingled and tugged, instinctively snaking out his arms and crushing the artist as close to his body as possible. 

Gerard’s hands were everywhere, cupping Frank’s face and tangling in his hair, sliding under his shirt and lingering on his belt. Frank had never felt anything like it; so unexpected and electrifying and totally out of his control. It was driving him crazy; the feel of Gerard’s pulsing body crushed up against his and without thinking, Frank thrust his hips forward into Gerard’s, groaning brokenly into the latter’s flawless mouth as hot, fuzzy pleasure pooled lucidly in his groin. 

“O-oh,” Frank gasped, impatiently brushing his fringe out of his eyes as his cock strained against the confines of his pants and Gerard bit down hard on his collar bone with those tiny, pointy little teeth, licking sloppily around the assault and up the tender skin of Frank’s neck, hot and wet and agonisingly slow, nipping and nibbling roughly until Frank could feel the flesh tearing and his lower-belly yearning almost painfully. 

Frank thought about those tiny, nicotine-stained teeth and plush, pink lips playing with his tender skin, and more pleasure gushed into his groin, making his breath hitch and his hands stray shakily down Gerard’s torso, sliding under the fabric of his shirt and feeling soft, milky skin on his callused fingertips that made him clutch the artist closer still, stomach somersaulting at the warm, real flesh. 

Gerard moaned huskily into Frank’s ear, sending shivers all down the latter’s spine as the guitarist recklessly slid his fingers under the waistline of Gerard’s pants, excitement jolting straight to his gut as he felt Gerard’s hot, pulsating skin and curls of dark hair. Gerard’s nibbling of Frank’s neck became a lot more like devouring as Frank dug his hand lower, wrapping it round the artist’s throbbing cock and making the older boy groan roughly against Frank’s neck. Biting down hard on his lip to keep himself from gasping, Frank started to pump his hand up and down, feeling Gerard’s pulse racing under his fingertips. 

“G-od,” Gerard breathed huskily, his clammy hands fumbling shakily up to cup Frank’s jaw and pull him in for a heated, messy kiss, nose crushed uncaringly against Franks as he did things with his tongue that made Frank’s stomach go crazy and shivers erupt all down his spine. In response, he jacked Gerard faster, kissing back wildly, urgently while rubbing his thumb over the burning scar-tissue and feeling Gerard’s guttural groan vibrate deep against his chest, like the bass in the gig. 

The night air was velvety and cold against Frank’s exposed skin as Gerard slid his long, nimble fingers under the guitarist’s safety-pin adorned shirt, expertly unbuttoning Frank’s jeans and fumbling the zip with those long, pale fingers.

They danced, taunting, along the line of Frank’s boxers, occasionally skimming under the hem and onto Frank’s feverish skin, but just lingering for half a second. Frank’s whole body felt like it was shuddering with anticipation, burning, skyrocketing, squeezing, trembling, until Gerard’s silky, cool fingertips were finally curling round his throbbing dick and unbearable pleasure shot straight up his length, pooling warmly in his groin as Frank let out a choked moan and pumped Gerard harder, squeezing more tightly. 

Gerard’s fingers were perfect round the throbbing flesh of Frank’s cock; they were cool and soft, so soft, devastatingly talented as they rubbed him harder and faster, the wonderful, increasing pressure making him choke and frantically find Gerard’s lips in the shadowy darkness, sinking into their sloppy, cigarette-tinted warmth as tingles spread over every inch of his flushed body, right to his fingertips, making him feel light-headed and dizzy with pleasure. 

The feel of Gerard’s length pulsating in his hand was enough on its own to make Frank lose it a little, but with Gerard’s lips stumbling out of sync against his, all fragmented and needy and hot and sloppy, it was a different matter altogether. The artist’s fingers continued squeezing and stroking Frank’s cock intensely, until the tingly pleasure that shot down the latter’s length was escalating into a low, almost pain-like throb that liquidized all round Frank’s groin and made him see white stars behind his closed eyes from the pleasure that buzzed and gushed hotly, wetly through him. 

Then suddenly, Gerard was pulling away, panting harshly as he pushed Frank more forcefully up against the wall and knelt down, dragging Frank’s boxers down with clammy, fevered fingers. For a second, the cold night air was icy his exposed skin, but then his length was suddenly encased in the warm wetness of Gerard’s mouth and Frank cried out as a twang of unbearable, clenching pleasure shot up his cock, making him stagger back against the grimy brick wall, tipping his head back as his lower-belly tensed powerfully and he resisted the urge to thrust into the artist’s sloppy mouth.

Gerard’s tongue was skilfully lapping at the head, tiny teeth dragging lightly, tantalisingly, down the fleshy underside before he sucked every inch of Frank in, his moist, warm lips pressed to the guitarist’s balls, making Frank gasp out silently into the cold air, desperately gripping at the wall behind him, because his legs were turning to jelly, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand up much longer with the mind-blowing things Gerard was doing. 

He could feel every violent beat of his heart resound through his trembling body, feel the heat and the need crawling hotly across his skin, making him break out in the sweat that trickled desperately down his back with the effort of staying upright, feel the tremors shudder through the spasm-ready muscles in his lower belly, and the desperate, aching throb of his cock pleading through everything. His vision was starting to blur as the pain-like pleasure built and built, with the tugging of almost, almost almo-

It took almost all Frank’s willpower to pull eventually Gerard off of him and drop shakily to his knees on the alley floor, panting needily for air. He couldn’t come yet. Normally, Frank wouldn’t have given a fuck about the other person involved, but this time he found, scarily, he was- he wanted to make Gerard feel amazing, even more amazing than he was feeling now, so, still gulping for breath, the guitarist reached up and tugged at the waistline of Gerard’s pants, trying to ignore the needy throb of his own dick.

“You…you don’t need to do that,” Gerard breathed raggedly, looking down at Frank with pink cheeks and blown pupils and bruised lips and fuck, if Frank was making him look like that, he never, ever wanted to stop. He wanted to reach the there but he also wanted the nagging, aching almost to last forever. 

“No, no…” Frank’s voice felt rough in his throat as he looked up at Gerard, feeling his belly flip at the sight of the dishevelled older man. “I- I want to.”

Gerard let out a small groan and staggered back against the wall as Frank tugged his boxers down enough to expose his pulsating length to the night air. For a moment, Frank just stared, a little nervously, because yes, he fucked a lot of people, but he wasn’t that used to pleasing other people- he didn’t normally want to. But there really was something different about the raven-haired artist. He made Frank feel different to how anyone else could make him feel, and there was something he couldn’t quite define that drew him to Gerard. Maybe it was because he didn’t seem to think Frank was anything special, like everyone else did. Maybe it was because Frank didn’t feel in control. Whatever it was, it was unique; as though any chemistry he’d experienced with someone before was utterly mundane in comparison. With Gerard, it all felt electric. It was like advanced chemistry. Different to anything Frank had ever experienced before, and he wanted it, he needed it. 

“Unuh…” Gerard moaned brokenly, tossing his sweaty hair, and Frank realised the emerald-eyed boy wasn’t going to last much longer. So, squeezing his eyes shut, Frank placed his hands on Gerard’s skinny hipbones, feeling them fight the urge to thrust forwards, and swirled his tongue onto the older’s cock, feeling a gush of warmth to his own groin when Gerard’s dick twitched up in his mouth. Frank licked all the way down it before enveloping it fully, letting its hot, fleshiness fill his mouth right up as he sucked up and down, hollowing his cheeks out and reaching up to rub the base of the silken hotness. 

The sound of Gerard’s breathless gasps made Frank’s belly quiver and shudder, and the tingles spread all round his body, tickling his fingertips as the artist’s hands tangled fiercely into Frank’s deflated Mohican, gripping onto it as Frank licked all up the underside of Gerard’s dick, feeling the pulse of the vein screaming through the tight skin. He took a deep breath dug his tongue into the slit of scar-tissue the top, tasting the bitter, hot saltiness of pre-come tainting his tongue. The effect was instant, and the guitarist felt a turbulent tremor shudder through Gerard. His own groin throbbed at the older boy’s reaction, and he palmed himself through his jeans, suppressing a groan as Gerard thrust into his mouth.

Messily, Frank did it again, and felt Gerard lose all control. The artist groaned harshly and slumped back against the wall as the first pulse filled Frank’s mouth, hot and salty. He swallowed tenderly, making Gerard moan gutturally again and pull him off, clawing his way up to Frank’s face to kiss him raggedly and breathlessly, simultaneously shoving Frank’s pants down and grabbing his aching cock, pumping up and down furiously as he continued to come in hot, hard spurts against the guitarist’s crotch. 

The feel of Gerard’s hot, sloppy lips and tongue lapping against his, the unbearably building buzz of aching pleasure surrounding his cock from Gerard’s frenzied pumping, and the incredibly hot feeling of Gerard’s come splurting messily across Frank’s own dick pushed Frank right over the edge he was already so close to.

Gerard never stopped kissing him as Frank’s whole body convulsed and he came violently into the artist’s hand, gasping and biting down on Gerard’s lip as the pain-like pleasure blinded him for a second. His lips stayed, kissing brokenly and weakly, on Gerard’s until they’d both exhausted their orgasms completely and slumped down, completely spent, on the cold floor of the alley, panting harshly into the cool night air, hearts racing. 

After a moment, Gerard reached over and slid his arm round Frank’s shoulders, pulling the smaller boy close. Frank let his eyes flutter closed and rested his head against Gerard’s lean chest, listening to the frantic flutter and beat of the older boy’s heart under the black leather, matching his own fevered pulse. He could smell sweat and tobacco and oil paints in Gerard’s hair as it straggled down, tickling Frank’s face and something tugged across his chest; something powerful and raw. 

He didn’t want to let go.

He wanted to stay, cocooned in this near-stranger’s arms, smelling cinnamon incense and cigarettes and sex for ever in this haze of bliss, and never have to be careless again, because now, somehow, scarily, he cared. He didn’t now why, but he cared about the slender, raven-haired artist panting beside him, really cared. 

“I should leave,” Gerard’s rugged voice broke the silence, all husky and weak, and Frank’s heart tugged with uncharacteristic anxiety at the thought. 

“Um,” he felt himself blushing and looked down at his now dishevelled tartan pants and nibbled at his lip as he asked a question he’d never asked in his life before. “Do…Do you have to?”

Gerard’s lips twitched slightly somewhere in the direction of a smile, making Frank’s belly squirm feebly. 

“Don’t you want me to?” he questioned, raising an eyebrow. His eyeliner was all smudged round his eyes and his hair was messy with sweat. 

“No,” Frank said hurriedly. Then- “I mean, uh, whatever. I don’t care.” He shrugged in what was probably a terrible attempt at carelessness, because his heart was thumping and thumping. 

“Okay,” Gerard shrugged too, genuinely careless, smirking and looking amused as he staggered to his feet, brushing his mussed-up inky hair out of his eyes to fix Frank with the full intoxication of his soul-searching emerald gaze. “If that’s how you feel,” he said, as if he knew it was exactly how Frank did feel. 

“Um…”

“Well, I’m not gunna lie…You’re quite hot- for someone who looks like a fifteen year old,” Gerard smirked, brushing his lips lightly, tauntingly, against Frank’s and sauntering off down the alleyway, leather jacket slung easily over one shoulder.

Frank watched him for a second, feeling something horrible and barbed-wire like happening to his insides as Gerard’s silhouette grew smaller. 

“Wait!” Frank called suddenly, unable to bear it any longer, and Gerard swivelled round, silhouetted in the moonlight that made his hair shine almost blue, like the sheen of a raven’s feathers. 

“Yes?” Gerard called, looking amused and also slightly smug. 

“Um, will I ever see you again?” Frank blurted out, nibbling at his lip-ring and surveying the artist nervously. 

Gerard shrugged a little carelessly, lighting up a smoke. “Maybe. If you want to.”

“I do!” Frank heard himself say, scrambling to his feet. 

Gerard definitely looked amused now. “Oh?”

“I mean, uh, only if you want. And, uh, only-” Frank broke off, raking his hand through his floppy Mohican and looking sincerely at Gerard. “Look, I’m shit at this. What I’m trying to say is…you’re different. I’ve never met anyone like you before and I’d kinda like to not just bone you and never see you again.”

Gerard laughed slightly, exhaling smoke into the velvety night and walking lazily back over to Frank. “You don’t normally do this kind of stuff, do you? I can tell- you seriously need to work on your ‘I might like to blow you again speech’. It’s not the smoothest.” His eyes were twinkling. 

Frank bit his lip and pushed his hair impatiently from his eyes. “…Um.”

He was saved the trouble of saying something else, because then Gerard was pressing his lips softly and lightly to Frank’s, kissing him in a tender, sweet sort of way that before Frank would have classed as soppy, but actually, it was even better than the heady, lust-filled ones earlier. He sighed happily and melted into the familiar warmth, letting his hands stray round Gerard’s waist, hugging him close. 

All too soon, Gerard was pulling away, a small smile playing across his kiss-swollen lips- a slightly softened, less seductive smile. “Give me your arm, then,” he said, biting at the increasing smile as he dug in his pocket and pulled out a pen. 

Frank extended his arm, unable to conceal the wide grin spreading across his face behind his outgrown, dyed-black fringe, as Gerard lightly inked his number on Frank’s forearm, imbedding goosebumps as well as ink. 

“I’ll be seeing you then, Frank Iero,” He smirked, touching Frank’s cheek and turning away, starting off down the alley.

“I’ll call you!” Frank called to the retreating figure, which waved without turning round, just as if he knew Frank would be watching him walk away. 

 

……

**Author's Note:**

> Posted originally on 31/05/2013. Comments are very much welcome!


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